


a trajectory of loss

by zerotransfat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: A Fuckton of Spoilers, Angst, Angst and Feels, Depression, Dude loses so much so I had to give back, Ensemble Cast, Fix-It, Like, M/M, Sadness? In My Team Leader? It's More Likely Than You Think, Shiro (Voltron) Needs a Hug, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-14
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-06-27 05:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15679257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerotransfat/pseuds/zerotransfat
Summary: In the small period of recovery after Sendak’s invasion, Shiro finally gets some time alone to mull over his thoughts.Ever since he was a child, Shirogane Takashi has known his life will be one of farewells.





	a trajectory of loss

**Author's Note:**

> To be honest, while I've watched all of the seasons before season 7, I've never really been in the fandom. That's why I had no preconception going into season 7.
> 
> Even if I don't hate the season, I'm still going to write fix-it fic, because that's what fanfic writers do. They mold the story to their whim, not the other way around.

 

Later, much later, when the thought of it didn’t bring half as much pain, Lance asks what it waslike being dead.

Shiro opens his mouth, closes it again. Everyone around the table (still littered with the debris of a strategy meeting) shoots him concerned glances.

He can’t bring himself to tell all of it, the way the stars had looked as they hung in the infinite darkness, the nebulas glowing purple all around him even as he stood in the centre of his Lion’s mind, empty. He can’t give voice to the way he would just try to fold in on himself, trying to drift off, trying not to go insane. The Black Lion had tried to help, of course (anything for the Paladin), but human beings just were not made for solitary confinement. He had clung to what little he could remember of that one time Lance almost heard his voice for what seemed like an eon, just to remain sane.

“Cold,” he says, quietly. “It was cold.” There is a stilted silence in the room, and then they all try their hardest not to think about it. Keith turns a knowing eye to Shiro, and he’s beginning to feel scrutinized at the way he examines the bags underneath his eyes before Pidge immediately starts railing on Lance for something he did, and the conversation derails into the friendly bickering that Shiro has come to love about his team.

When he leaves for his bed, Hunk reaches out to put a warm hand on Shiro’s cold shoulder. “Hey. If you need something hot to drink, never hesitate to ask, yeah?” He says, softly.

Shiro only nods; he appreciates the sentiment, but deep down he knows that too many things have gouged out pieces of him, and that filling the holes left behind would take more hot chocolate than there exists in the universe.

 

* * *

 

Ever since he was a child, Shirogane Takashi has known his life will be one of farewells.

At first, he doesn’t quite understand it. He dreams of flying among the stars, and it doesn’t compute why his parents sometimes looks at him that certain way when he voices those dreams.

Then, after he gets a little older, he comes to understand. But at that point in his life, he has comparatively little to lose, save for that nebulous, shapeless thing called potential.

And then, as the years pass, as his dreams became reality, shaped out of potential by his efforts, he gains more and more, more friends, more dreams, more people to love. Shiro finds it harder and harder to say _goodbye_ , even as it looms in every decision he makes.

He doesn’t tell anyone that doesn’t need to know. He doesn’t tell Adam until they’ve been dating for two years, and he might have kept it even longer from Keith if the boy hadn’t eavesdropped.

He leaves for Kerberos, and with Adam’s words echoing in his mind he says farewell once again.

(At the time, it had felt like the hardest one. The Shirogane Takashi of that time still had everything to lose.)

 

* * *

 

He screams on that metal table. Shiro had expected to lose the battle against his body eventually, but not like this. 

He loses many things on that table to Haggar’s _experiments_. On the outside, he’s covered in scars, the absence of healthy flesh, missing an arm. Half his hair bleaches into a ghastly white. On some days, he feels like there is nothing in the world that could make him warm again, despite the feverish heat of the prosthetic burning at his skin, glowing sickly purple.

On the inside, some days Shiro thinks he’s lost his fucking mind.

He fights his way out of the Galra Empire, back to Earth. He fights his way out of Earth too, and goes back to the terrible beauty of the stars.

Despite all that loss, against all odds, Shirogane Takashi gains things to treasure again, gains solid goals. He has a responsibility to these brilliant, quirky teammates, and despite not being all there Shiro works desperately to be the pillar of the team, to be the adult despite the fact that he still has a black hole in his chest. He knew it couldn’t be enough, perhaps no one could be, but then the others would always fill in the cracks and deficiencies. He watches them grow by the day, taller and stronger, and feels proud. He’s proud of Allura, even if the Altean princess was about ten thousand years older that he is—Shiro still can’t stop the swell of proud affection, like the older brother he never quite was.

He hopes, desperately, that with all of them together, things would work out. He hopes it is enough.

 

* * *

 

And then, in a brilliant moment of certainty after he strikes the blow against Zarkon, Shiro finds himself in a void. A horrible realization dawns, and he screams. His throat doesn’t go raw, because he has no body.

The horrid sound echoes, but there is no answer. 

(Shiro had expected to say farewell eventually—as he always does—but not like this. Oh god, they’re not ready! They hadn’t finished growing! He hasn’t even—

He hasn’t said _goodbye_. Not really.)

 

* * *

 

He spends the next eternity drifting in and out of visions, dreaming in the Black Lion’s consciousness. Shiro sees—

Keith growing into his own, becoming the leader he had always know he could be. Growing into his heritage. Lance, growing more confident, slowly, surely—gaining patience, maturity. Pidge, learning that her brilliance could be wielded like a sword, a bayard—how to cut the enemy’s plan into pieces. Hunk growing steady, the ground upon which the team finds footing.

Allura, standing taller, stately, the lady she was meant to be, and even Coran— they’ve all grown. 

But despite all that, they still had no defence against some things. He screams again into the void when he sees his own face, and knows that he is not behind it.

Eventually, he falls silent.

 

* * *

 

 

His clone tries to kill Keith, and Shiro tries to feel something again, enough to get through to Keith through the Black Lion’s bond—he has lost something again this time, something even more fundamental than his arm. It’s hard to think around that absence.

He grits his teeth despite not feeling it, and tries again. If Zarkon could do it, then he could as well.

 

* * *

 

 

Shiro wakes up in his clone’s body. After that, things move fast, almost faster than he can process. 

Someone tells him, after they get back to Earth, _I’m so sorry you had to find out this way but Lieutenant Adam—_ and he had only said _thank you for letting me know._ It sounds empty and he knows it, but he can’t quite seem to focus on that horrible fact lying at the bottom of his empty chest like a lump of ice.

Things don’t click until he says “it truly feels like a light has gone out of our lives and the sun itself couldn’t reignite it” in his address, and he finishes his speech, trying not to let anyone know the ice has spread throughout him, the knowledge that he has said _farewell_ before he had even known it freezing his blood.

_Adam_ , his traitorous mind whispers, and Shiro crushes it with the empty iciness. His falling voice is drowned out by the cheers and applause.

He avoids the memorial for those killed in action during Sendak’s invasion after that first visit, when he had whispered empty, quiet apologies. Shiro reasons to himself, while waiting for his team to wake up, that he is too busy. He’s technically promoted now, shouldering more responsibility than ever.

It’s almost not a lie.

 

* * *

 

“Sir?” The cadet looked up at him, eyes bright with something Shiro didn’t want to think about. The blond kid across from him couldn’t have been much older than Keith that day he stole his car; the orange cadet’s uniform hung off his skinny frame, a tad too big.

They are sending out children to die.

Shiro knew what he was getting into ( _a lie_ ), when he pushed past Adam’s _don’t expect me to be here when you get back_. He _would_ come back, patch things up with him, make it all right again. It certainly isn’t the first time Shiro and Adam had argued.

He thought he knew what he was getting into. He thought he knew the risks. He thought he had said _goodbye_ when he had been saying _see you again_ and now, well. 

These kids don’t know the risks, what they stand to lose from losing shapeless potential, like the small child Shirogane Takashi once was, staring up into his parent’s faces. But one person’s, even an entire generation’s potential would mean nothing if the entirety of the human race is lost.

The cadet looks at him, concerned. “Sir?” He says again, and Shiro snaps out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but Commander Holt wants to see you.”

He stands, finishes the coffee on his desk. It’s gone cold. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually, Shiro goes to the memorial. He tracks down a simple bouquet of flowers, and makes his way to the tiny plate, one of thousands.

_Adam W._ , it reads. Adam’s eyes are serious behind his glasses in the photo, his clothing and hair impeccably groomed, but Shiro knows that immediately after the photos he had snatched the beret off Adam’s head, revealing a glorious case of bed hair. 

He lays the flowers down, and smiles, despite the cold. 

“I know you said you wouldn’t wait for me,” he says to the memorial. “But I hadn’t said goodbye at the time. I said _see you later_. I would like to think the same for you, if it’s not too forward.”

He traces the name. _Adam W._ , it reads, and the metal is cold under his one remaining hand.

Despite both Galran and Altean cutting-edge medical technology, he still aches from phantom pains. He welcomes it at times—it’s something other than nothing, at least.

Other times, it just reminds him that his entire life has been one of farewells, a trajectory of loss. 

(He’s told Adam about this before, once. Late at night, he had said—

“One day, I’m going to have to say goodbye.”

Adam had brushed a thumb along the bridge of his nose. “Don’t we all? Look, Takashi.” He shifted under the covers, propping his head up to look at Shiro properly. “Life’s always been a series of meetings and partings. Do you regret asking me out?”

“What? No, of course not.”

“Do you regret becoming a pilot?”

“No, but why—”

“If you have nothing to regret,” Adam had said, forcefully. “Then don’t. You’ve already walked this far, haven’t you? As long as you can meet my eyes without regret in yours, then you’ve done enough. And if you do have regrets, then ask me.”

“You’re the most impartial judge in my life? God, what have I done to deserve this?” Shiro said jokingly, and Adam had thwacked him on the arm so hard he yelped.)

He meets Adam’s eyes in the photo, and there is no regret in them. He doesn’t regret what he did. He doesn’t regret going on the Kerberos mission, doesn’t regret travelling the universe, he certainly doesn’t regret Voltron. He doesn’t regret meeting the others, watching them grow strong.

Shiro does regret what he never managed to say, but Adam isn’t here. He’ll have to hold on to these regrets until he sees him again.

If he had anything to say about it, Adam would want him to stay alive, meet more people along the road. He’ll have to say goodbye to them— _life is a series of meetings and partings_ —but as always, since the beginning, he’ll gain more and more. 

Shiro’s earpiece beeps. “Captain?” Veronica’s voice comes through, and he stands, ignoring sore muscles from kneeling too long.

He traces the name once more, and then leaves.

 

* * *

 

Still, there is a terrible hope at the bottom of his chest, where the cold once was. In some ways, it’s worse than the emptiness, because he would wake up to a metal ceiling and realize he is alone.

He throws himself into his work, of which there is a lot. Too many things were happening at the same time—the entirety of the resistance had gathered at their home, this blue planet once home to a child that had dreamed of flying in the stars. The least he could do is to see this dream through, this one dream that had lead him to the fringes of the universe.

It all comes to a head one stormy afternoon. The tech team picks up on a distress signal in the Pacific Ocean—a group of refugees, and some Garrison personnel who ended up protecting these civilians through a war zone, and the person signing the message—

** _A.W._ **

Shiro doesn’t dare to hope, even as it surges in his chest. He doesn’t hope even as a familiar figure makes his way down the gangplank.

Adam removes the ragged hood of his cloak, and they both stare at each other.

They both look…different. Shiro stares at Adam, meticulously, hungrily cataloguing every change— _he’s gotten so thin, oh Adam_ — even as he did the same to him. Shiro knows what he must see—the hair, the scar, the arm.

“Oh, Takashi,” he sighs. “What happened to you?”

Shiro meets his eyes. “Nothing I regret doing.” He says, and Adam laughs, tearily. 

“Takashi,” he whispers, before he is crushed into a hug. “Takashi, I’m—”

“I didn’t say _goodbye_ , last time. I said _see you later._ ”

“And what do you know,” Adam says. “I said that too. At least, in my head I did.”

Shiro’s on familiar territory again, and he puffs up, faux-outraged. “Oh, sure you did.”

They fall into age-old routine, and deep down, the emptiness in Shiro eases. It’s not gone—not by a long shot—but somewhere in the void, a bigger seed of flame forms from the ones already there, joining into brilliant stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't be afraid to point out any mistakes I may have made. I wrote this in about three hours.


End file.
